A Bitter Ending
by Falmarien
Summary: A meeting between the Queen of Númenor and the son of an old friend. Based on events recounted in 'The Silmarillion'.


That night she dreamed of Middle-earth.

Of a city, many-tiered, standing proud and tall against the protective knee of a mountain bulk.

Of a king, dark haired, grey eyed, and so like to Elendil that when she beheld his face she woke in sudden bewilderment to feel the morning sun warm against her skin and hear the high piping of the tiny kirinki through the open window.

She laid still then, the dream echoing through her mind, until there came a soft sound from the door and Calirien entered the chamber.

"My lady?" she whispered, uncertain if her mistress had woken or still slept.

Tar-Míriel, Queen of Númenor, raised herself upon the pillows and banished the remnants of sleep from her eyes.

"My lady." Calirien dropped into a graceful curtsy. "The courier you sent out has returned. He has brought someone with him."

Míriel remained as she was, and for a long moment spoke no word. That the response to her missive should be so sudden and so decisive ought not to have taken her unawares. She knew well enough that those of Amandil's house had never lacked the courage or the will to act swiftly when need dictated.

"Bring me my robe," she commanded at last, throwing aside the bed covers to rise and go to the window.

The garment was finely woven, the best that mortal hands could make, and Calirien wrapped its soft folds around her mistress and then took a jewelled brush to sweep the long, dark hair back from her pale face. The chamber was beautiful, the furnishings fair and costly, and the window's outlook had once charmed the eye; yet Calirien felt only pity. For all its finery it was in truth but a silken cage for a bird who long since forgotten how to fly.

"Send him to me," Míriel said at last, and Calirien made haste to obey, knowing of whom her mistress spoke. Not seemly, perhaps, that the Queen of all Númenor should greet a guest so in her own bedchamber but there alone was she certain of secrecy, for there would that demon who went in the guise of a man - dark haired, soft footed, his eyes so cold they burned - there alone would Sauron not yet presume to come.

Míriel waited.

She looked from the window, her eyes drawn as always to the Meneltarma, that long-sacred place where no man was now permitted to tread and where even Sauron had not dared place his foot. And then her eyes swept down the hill to where Sauron had raised his own temple, the silver of the domed roof now blackened and stained. A reek of fume and fire curled from it into the pallid morning sky, blotting out the sun. She was glad when there finally came a knock at the door, and she turned with sharp relief from the window.

There was still pain in the sight of Amandil's son for Amandil had been dear to her, and to Pharazôn once. In their youth the three had been the closest of friends but those days were long past. They were no longer children and Pharazôn had usurped the throne and wed her by force while Amandil had gone beyond the reach of them both.

"Elendil," she said, and her greeting was warm in spite of all fear and sorrow. "I am in truth glad to see you in spite of the risk you take in coming here."

Elendil knelt and took her hand. "Tar-Míriel, your message spoke of urgency therefore I would not delay this meeting, for all its peril." He did no question but his eyes sought answers.

Míriel regarded him steadily. "You are wise, Elendil, for I feel the days are shortening. Our time is nearly over."

Lightning flicked like a whip above the Meneltarma even as she spoke, and she closed her eyes for a moment as if in sudden pain as thunder rumbled sullenly overhead. "Yet it may be that some will be permitted to survive the downfall that must surely come. Therefore you must make ready to sail, for if any are to be spared it will be those of the Faithful - and they look to you to lead them."

"My father counselled thus before he sailed," Elendil told her. "He said that I should gather ships and people and hold ourselves in readiness. I have done as he asked for his words - and yours - seem sound to me."

"I am heartened to find you not wholly unprepared. And yet it was not merely to dispense such advice that I summoned you here. I would give you something that I have long held secret, a thing I had in trust from my father Tar-Palantir." She turned then and, moving with swift urgency now, pulled a chest from a curtained recess. Opening the carved lid, she pulled from its depths an object shrouded in silk and handed it to him. "Receive, my Lord of Andúnië, the sword of Tar-Palantir which was given him by his father and has passed in such ways from the hand of Tar-Minyatur himself - and beyond, even into the First Age of this world, for it was wrought in the deeps of time by Telchar, who forged also Angrist, which Beren used to cut the Silmaril from Morgoth's crown."

With slow care and reverence Elendil unwound the silk and stared down at the long-sword. Even after years of concealment it had not lost its gleam, and the edge was still sharp and deadly.

"It is named Narsil- red and white flame," Míriel said. "I vowed once never to let this fall into the hands of Pharazôn, though he might have seized all else he desired. Now I would have you take it, for such a blade should not perish but be born by one with the strength and courage to wield it and win renown."

"Tar-Míriel, there is much honour in this," Elendil said, looking up from the sword. "I hope I may live to use it both well and wisely. And yet what of you, my Lady? Are you to be left with nothing? Could you not leave Ar-Pharazôn and sail with us?"

The room was steeped in sudden silence. Thunder rolled, low and menacing, and the air was cold.

"The offer is kindly meant, I know," said Míriel softly. "But for both our sakes I must refuse it. I would never be allowed to visit Andúnië, and if I fled there it would doom us both. Pharazôn has not totally forgotten the friendship he once bore for your father, and perhaps that alone has made him stay his hand. But Sauron would have you destroyed, and if I fled to you then Pharazôn would be driven to do just that. All my life I have been a pawn, caught up in events I lacked the strength and courage to change, but I would not be a willing party to your destruction."

Elendil bowed his head, judging her words and the truth of them. "It grieves me that I can do nothing for you when you have risked much for my sake."

"You must not grieve. This web is of my own weaving. Had I the courage of my father I would have defied Pharazôn years ago and rallied those of our people who were yet loyal. Then might this ending have been averted."

"Tar-Míriel, you judge yourself too harshly. Many were discontented under your father's rule, and had you resisted Ar-Pharazôn you would have found few willing to follow you. The land of Númenor is sick, defiled, and most of its people are beyond all reasoning. But you - you have tried to help us. I know that Isildur's quest for the fruit of Nimloth would have failed had it not been for the vigilance of those of the Faithful who yet remain in Armenelos, and I count you amongst that number, my Lady."

"Anything I have done has been too little and too late, and if I am not responsible for the degradation of Númenor, then neither am I blameless. For long years I have kept silent and done nothing, like too many of my people. And now it is too late to turn. We are beyond help, Elendil. We are of Númenor and our fate is to die with her. I have seen it."

"Then I can only commend your resolution and courage to stay until the bitter end."

Míriel laughed, but there was no amusement in her voice. "Yes, it will be a bitter ending. Courage, you say? I have little of that. I may bid you go and leave me to my doom but when the last day dawns, as soon it shall, then I fear I shall not greet it with such calm acceptance. I have no wish to die - to sleep and never awaken. That much at least of Pharazôn's mind I understand, and therefore I cannot condemn him wholly. So you see, I am not untainted by the sickness that consumes Númenor. But you and your kin are the future, the better part of Númenor that shall survive. Last night I dreamed, and it gave me hope. Not for myself, but for you. There will be kingdoms in Middle-earth, there will be battle - hard and long - and at the end there will be victory."

"Then I take hope also from your words, my Lady. It may be that some memory of the glory of Númenor will be preserved."

"That is my hope, and I have said all I would. Go and prepare, and wait. I pray that the Valar will judge you fairly; maybe your father's quest achieved that much grace."

"I shall do as both you and he commanded, and I will bear your gift with me. I, too, fear the waiting shall not be long."

But before he could rise Míriel stayed him a moment longer. "One more favour I would ask of you. My maid, Calirien. I would not have her remain in Armenelos any longer. She is of the Faithful and has tended me well, keeping silent in all things, and I would have her spared the fate of Númenor. Take her with you now. Tell her it is my command, and that in this I will brook no disobedience. I fear that if she delays escape will become impossible."

"I will do as you ask gladly," Elendil promised, and she knew that he would have said more save that he sensed it would be to no purpose. She came forward then and raised him to his feet, embracing him as she would have done a son of her own flesh and blood. She had no child, and now she counted that a blessing for any son of hers would have grown to manhood only as Sauron's pawn. Looking now on Elendil she knew him for the child of her heart, the son she might have born had the fates been kinder.

"Go in hope," she said at last. "May the Valar guide and protect you and your kin."

Elendil kissed her hand, bowed once and left her to the silence of the empty chamber.

Ar-Zimraphel, last Queen of Númenor, went to the window and watched once more as the flames rose ever higher from the temple of Sauron, and thunder echoed from the West.

THE END


End file.
